


In Which Gamin is Read as "Vermin"

by RandomRyu



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Original Character(s), Poverty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomRyu/pseuds/RandomRyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theo is a young boy that's lived alone on the streets for a few years, making his way through life by stealing and hiding, and trying to make fun out of everything, keeping a positive attitude on the corrupted streets of France. Known as "Theo the rat" or "Theo the Vermin," he resides in an alcove he found in an alleyway, a literal hole in the wall of an old, mediocre inn that's placed right next to a noisy pub. Known by the whispers of citizens and other gamins, he goes through life day by day doing his best to survive what life throws at him. Poverty, starvation, harsh weather, inadequate living situations, judgement, and much, much more. </p>
<p>This is his story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I  THE HOLE IN THE WALL; GAMIN/VERMIN

I

THE HOLE IN THE WALL; GAMIN/VERMIN

 

A cold shiver washes over him for what seems like the hundredth time as he pulls the threadbare blanket over his thin, frail body; hoping for warmth to surround him and keep him safe. No matter how much he waits or prays, the warmth never comes. He is only met with the unforgiving chill of the winter upon all of France, making him tremble like a leaf in the harsh wind battering against the outside of his claustrophobic shelter. It’s time especially like this when he wishes that he lived in a stable home or even an insulated inn. Even in a closed shed, if it were possible. Not a small hole in the wall just big enough to hold the petite gamin, a used up, flat pillow, and a few thin, threadbare blankets.

When I say “hole in the wall,” you may think of a literal hold punched or carved out of a wall of any sort. And you are correct. The young boy squeezes himself into an alcove in the stone wall on the outside of an inn, making himself a home in the space between the inner and outer structure like a disgusting, pesky rat. Customers of the inn and the innkeepers themselves dubbed the movement and scratching just a simple vermin scuttling about in the wall, paying no mind to killing it or ridding it of the building. Which is a good thing, since the vermin is actually a gamin. And the tiny alcove is his home, along with the expansive streets of France.

The streets of France hold many types of people, from the bourgeois to the dirt poor, but the type that it best holds, naturally holds, is the gamin. Even when homeless and poverty-stricken, the gamin finds his or her way into the theater and knows their way around to snatch food and find places to nap. Their vocabulary is akin to the sailors, as their humor on the side. Even though they may be filthy, body and mind, they are not overall terrible people. All are fairly young, from the age of seven to thirteen, and all get along on some aspect, though they may differ in others and have different outlooks on certain topics. The one thing they do have in common is innocence. A sparkling pearl in their soul which stays clean although doused in mud and grime. For they are God’s children, and even though these children are put through the hardships of adults, they shine and maintain a sense of good humor in the darkest of times.

This gamin in particular that wedges himself into the all of an inn, for he doesn’t remember his full name. Although, he does call himself Theo, and to the whispers of the streets he’s known as “Theo the rat” or “Theo the vermin.” The boy doesn’t take offense to these names. When he hears them, he simply laughs and holds his stomach, exclaiming “That’s me!”

Theo “the vermin” only stands a bit over four feet tall at the age of eleven, having turned so a mere few months ago. He himself has forgotten the exact date of his birthday, for he only knows that he ages one year forwards every passing year, since he’s been roaming the streets and sleeping in the wall of the inn since he was nine years old. He entered the streets uncertain and afraid, and became the regular gamin in a handful amount of months thanks to the help of other gamins in the area and eavesdropping on citizens’ and passerby’s conversations (especially those of the thieves and the homeless). The young boy has brunette hair that falls over his small shoulders in waves and tucks behind his pink ears to reveal his deep green eyes and button nose; the indents of his cheekbones and thin line of his maturing lips. Beneath lies his pointy chin and thin, feminine neck. His body is one expected of a boy his age, but thanks to his lack of money and skipping meals (not purposely, of course) throughout the day, he’s lean and bony around his stomach, ribs, back, and wrists; his shoulder blades so sharp and out there that the bones look as if they could burst through the skin. If he tried, he could hold water in the dips of his collarbones and the hollow area just under his chin, and if someone were to hit hi m, they would fear of cutting themselves on the gamin’s cheekbones. A dense dusting of freckles marks his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. If one didn’t look close enough to realize that the dots were part of his flesh, they would think the boy would have soil smeared across his features, when in actuality it was a natural flaw. Feminine, dirt caked hands with crescents of filth under overgrown nails from frolicking through the hustle and bustle of the streets and rummaging through the layers of filth for necessities easily bought by others of higher class.

“Look at that boy, for he’s practically swimming in those pants!” A woman of the bourgeois would mutter under her breath, letting out what sounds like a disgusting, though sympathetic, scoff; dressed in the finest silk and donning an elegant wig of the most expensive kind.

This scoffing bourgeois woman is correct, in a way. Theo’s pants sag, hang off his lithe hips, the only thing holding them up being tightly wound suspenders made for a grown adult male. For some, the pants hiked up to the gamin’s chest is comical, and they would chuckle. For others, they would see this picture as upsetting, and would weep. On top of the sagging, oversized pants held up by suspenders, the adolescent boy dons a long-sleeved button up rolled up to his elbows to expose his sullied palms and elbows, freckles dusting his thin forearms as they do his face. A threadbare cravat is tucked under the collar of the shirt and loosely tied around his neck (he doesn’t know the correct way to tie it, for he never learned). On his feet are shoes akin to slippers, the soles almost worn to the flesh and let in water and snow, whatever weather has collected on the ground that day. Overall, Theo’s getup is an earthy color. Soot colored cravat and suspenders, deep green shirt, coffee hued pants and soil stained shoes; pants matching his hair and his shirt his eyes. The typical gamin of France.

As we have said before, Theo lives in a literal hold in the wall, having to stand the draft from the entrance to his alcove located in an alleyway betwixt an alright inn and a noisy pub. The smell of linen, wet soil, and alcohol wasn’t alien to him, becoming even a homey smell to his nose. He has thought of finding another area to sleep, but when he thought of the trouble he had to go through to locate another hidden area out of the view of any passerby, he scoffed and thought to himself,” Oh, I’m safer as I am now. All I need is a few more pillows and blankets.” That wasn’t a total lie, since the linen he had with him currently was just as good as trying to warm himself with a sheet of writing paper. He thought of asking a fellow gamin for advice regarding finding a place to sleep and rest, though he doesn’t know how to ask at this point, so he keeps his mouth shut.

As we stated, the boy is currently curled up in his alcove, wrapped in his thin blankets and resting his head against the barely-there pillows, which is the only thing shielding his head from the rough, splinter-ridden wood of the wall. He shares the crawlspace with spiders and rats- mice of varying sizes. He used to hate these housemates, but having them around ever since a few years ago, he doesn’t even give them a second glance anymore. Sometimes he even jokes around, calling the passing rats and mice his “brothers” and “sisters.” For Theo wasn’t in the dark of his nickname on the streets, as stated earlier. He did his best to embrace it and keep the thought that people knew who he was, even if he was another pesky gamin cluttering the streets, stealing, and cursing like a sailor down by the docks.

Suddenly, the tiny bundle in the crawlspace shifted and groaned, the gamin smacking his lips as he let out a surprisingly loud yawn. Even though it was early in the morning that it could be mistaken for midnight, this was the normal time that Theo the rat became restless. Many other gamins wandered the street at this strange hour, not to be hindered by daytime’s citizens, carts, carriages, etc. They could freely scuttle along the cobblestones like small animal; pests of the street that merely take up space; shooed out of inns and kicked out of people’s houses.

Theo rose from his bundle of fabric, leaning over and pushing aside a used up blanket which he had tacked over the hole to prevent others from glancing into the alcove while he slept; a sense of safety regarding this skinny strip of fabric. It wouldn’t do much to physically protect the boy, but thanks to his sense of hearing, he would hear his attacker approaching before they struck. When he had pushed the “curtain” aside, slender fingers could be seen grasping the fabric along with a pair of deep green, wide, precious orbs placed atop a reddened button nose and heavily freckled cheeks peering betwixt the gap made there. The pair of green orbs blinked once, twice, thrice; sweeping over the darkness of the barren alleyway for any sign of danger. Sensing nor seeing none, the gamin lets out a quiet “Hmph!” and sheds his layers of bed clothes, tightens his suspenders before he squeezes out of the hole in the wall with a dull thud as his poorly protected feet connect with the ground. The bitter chill of winter nipped at the boy freely now, making him shiver and shove his hands into his pockets; making a mental note to somehow get hold of another shirt or thick jacket to shield himself from the crisp, unmerciful weather blanketing all of France.  
Wringing his bony hands in his pockets, having almost a ridiculous amount of room inside of them, he took a deep breath; the cold stinging his nostrils and throat as he inhaled. Light, drifting snowflakes landed in his wavy locks and sat there, becoming, in a way, an accessory for the gamin’s state of dress. These snowflakes also collected on his shirt, cravat, and suspenders; melting after a few passing seconds of sticking to his freckled cheeks. He felt as though he was slowly freezing already, even though he’s only been outside for a mere minute or two. Even so, he leveled his breathing and kept his hands balled into tight-knit fists in his oversized pockets.

“Well, off I go!” Theo thought, having a skip in his step as h made his way out of the alleyway. As he noted before, there was no one wandering the streets. No footprints giving anyone away in the falling snow gathering and sticking to the ground. Lamps placed above front doors illuminated the cobblestones, and those who couldn’t sleep, or were simply mad, left their windows of the top floor open to the night; a candle somewhere inside the building casting shadows on the wooden shutters hanging on their hinges, which were rusting slightly. The gamin’s footsteps echoed through the adjacent, closely built homes and inns as he trotted along, humming a song that he’s learned from other gamins among the streets, of their shared home.

A grumbling suddenly rose from Theo’s stomach, making him stutter in his steps for a moment and break in his humming.

“Maybe the bakery’s door is unlocked. If not, a window,” He mused, crossing his fingers in his pocket for a pinch of good luck; keeping his eye out for the sign of the local bakery.


	2. II THEO ON STEALING/A GAMIN’S DIET

II  
THEO ON STEALING/A GAMIN’S DIET

Theo was no stranger to pilfering food and certain goods from venders and stores that left their doors open to the public. He would like to have money to actually sit down and eat a full meal, but thanks to poverty covering the boy like a thick woolen blanket, he must resort to stealing; being a red-handed thief of the streets and having to keep up a clever thought process to avoid being caught and thrown into jail. There has been times where he was a step away from imprisonment, but thanks to his swift movements and the skip in his step, he outran the tall, burly policemen; sometimes even turning around for a split second to stick out his tongue and mock his superiors. This only made the men more agitated and enraged, but that didn’t help them to catch the fleeing gamin which would already be out of their sights.

In those rare, lucky times where Theo would get his hands on a sou or any type of coin he was treated with, he spent it on sweeter delicacies. Where one would go buy a full, salty, filling meal if they had gotten their hands on precious money whist they were starving, Theo was one to waltz into a bakery and march up to the counter only to order a sweet roll or a brioche; filling himself up with sugary dough until his teeth actually started to ache. These times were, as stated earlier, very rare and cherished by the boy. These occurrences made him genuinely smile, his whole face brightening with the obvious upwards curl of his chapped lips. To bourgeois children, much different from the species of gamin, these assortments of sugary delicacies; cakes, rolls, squares of chocolate, these were all everyday threats and events for them which they would sometimes get tired of and refuse, maybe even throwing a temper tantrum in the process. Any gamin, including Theo, would accept these pastries with not even a blink of the eye and gobble it right up without any hesitation. The bourgeois turns their nose up to this sort of animal-esque , glutton-laden mood, calling those who act as such pigs; not wanting to do with them in any way, shape, or form. The gamin is a species that no one wants to be associated with. At first, Theo was hurt by this, and hid from people, sulking and fasting for hours on end. Over time, he built up a wall to that sort of snobbish, irritating behavior; now frolicking through the streets of Paris and living his life one day at a time.

Times when Theo had no money to his name, not even the cheapest coin, which was almost all the time, he resorting to stealing for nourishment. And stealing wasn’t an easy task, as explained before. Theo wished that he didn’t have to steal a majority of the time, but he needed to survive. And to survive, he had to steal. We have noted the swiftness of his movements and the way he treated running from the cops as sort of a game, but what we have not touched upon was how he stole and where he chose to pilfer goods from.

He preferred to swipe vegetables and fruits from outside street venders, which were a bit sparse during the winter and crowding the cobblestone walkways during the summer. If bread or sweets was a part of these venders at the time he was searching for food, he would go straight to those if he was able to, if there wasn’t a huge crowd around the table or police densely packed around the area. If that was the case, he would go to another area of the neighborhood and crossed his fingers for more luck there. Mostly, he took apples and pears, even if they were a bit bruised or moldy. It didn’t matter to him, as long as it didn’t make him ill, and he has eaten mold before thanks to finding a batch of molding, stale bread. In times of intense poverty, one turns to anything, takes anything they can get.

As it was, They “the vermin” lived on whatever he could find; vegetables, bread, cakes, etc. etc. Time to time he would get his hands on wine, which he would gulp greedily at first, but has learned to save it and drink it here and there in small portions, savoring it. He paid no mind to his age when he found this wine. But who else cared, anyway? Women and men of all ages gulped down wine and alcohol like it was a fresh, cold glass of water. You may think that this small gamin, that was more like a mouse than a rat, was an alcoholic. No, no. That was one thing that Theo was not. He knew what drunkards looked and acted like, and he wished not to end up like a man who passes out in the middle of a restaurant smelling of alcohol and sweat, surrounded by empty bottles of wine. He wishes not to be shunned even more by society once he grows into a man. This fact that he drank wine also does not mean that he doesn’t drink anything else. He drinks water from puddles on the street when it rains, not bothered by the soil gritting against his teeth. In snow, around the time we find him most recently, he gathers up mouthfuls of snow which melt to water on his tongue and swallows once it’s all liquid. It’s cold on his teeth, but it quenches his thirst, and that’s all that matters to him. Water fills his stomach, and that makes him feel full, even if he’d eaten nothing solid for a good while. 

Tricking oneself into thinking that their stomach is full wasn’t something new for the people struggling with poverty. Actually, it was something too common on the street. Chewing wax to keep one’s mouth occupied or bloating one’s belly full of water to stimulate fullness; either were used, if they were able to. It was foolish and dangerous to do such things, yes, but some had no other choice but to continue this terrible cycle until they got their hands on real food or collapsed of exhaustion, dropped dead of starvation have it be long enough. Theo knew that he couldn’t last without food, thus he turned back to stealing on a weekly basis, taking the opportunity very chance that he got.

When the boy got his hands on a package of food or a handful of anything that he could ration, he stored it in his little alcove. It wasn’t an easy task, thanks to the rodents and such making their home in the walls along with Theo. More than once he’s awoken to find rats digging through his small pile of food, having to shoo them away with a hushed whisper and the waving of his petite hands. He would spend the next hour or so picking the filth and rat droppings out of the grains or nuts or vegetables and eat a portion of his own. It took him a while to figure out the right way to store these products, but now he knows that he must bury it as deep as he can in his pants pocket and wrap himself in his blankets to prevent the rodents from munching through his clothes, thus ruining his clothes further and losing his nutrition. His blankets were covered in rat droppings and cobwebs, but it’s something that he learned he couldn’t avoid, no matter how much he shook them out or picked off the specks by hand, which was a tedious task. The filth involved was nothing new to him, and the smell became accustomed to his nose. Another would gag at the smell, but Theo would just shrug and continue on with his life. 

Simply eating—surviving—from day to day was a struggle for Theo, but he did his best to keep his hopes high and expectations low. He understands the rights and wrongs of the street and of the law, and the majority of the time he must go against the right decision for his own health and well-being, either mental or physical. Guilt locked up in his mind and hunger roaming free on the brain, he took to the streets of Paris, his home.


End file.
